Skin Deep
by PlasmaMarionette
Summary: Sometimes agony and love go together and corrode like an acid underneath your skin. LanceScott


Skin-Deep

plasmamarionette

**1)** Idea of "cure" was obviously stolen from X-Men 3: The Movie, as I didn't know any other reason why Magneto would hurt people so much. It's **VERY lame, but it was the only idea I had for the dark part of this fic** **to take place.**

2) I made Magneto a bit more evil in this fiction, as I thought that was necessary, given the context.

**3)** **POV changes in the middle, please take note.**

**4)** **I do know that Mystique does not take any orders from Magneto, but I modified it.**

Hope you enjoy. :)

------------

_October 2005_

_It's raining now, a beautiful light rainfall like tiny near-invisible needle points falling from heaven. _

_You open the door. _

_As expected, you see a single rose, stained with translucent raindrops on the doorstep, its dangerous thorns tenderly and gently cut away._

_Cursing under your breath, you stomp up the stairs, and chuck them into your cupboard, crammed with roses the color of blood. _

_-------_

"Don't bother wasting your money. I'll never like them."

"But I want to. Someday, you'll be mine."

"Stuff it, Summers."

"I want you, Lance Alvers. I've always wanted you."

You roll your eyes in mock disbelief and walk away.

-----------

_December 2005_

It's been two months.

And those roses never stop coming.

You feel your resolve slowly crumbling, giving way to mild surprise and maybe… affection.

But you can't help but wonder why he sends you the flowers only when it rains.

---------------

_February 2006_

It took you five months, and maybe a few dozen, hell, maybe a hundred roses for you to end up in his arms, belonging to him, and only to him.

"Why… Why did you send me roses only when it rained?"

"'Cause you remind me of rain, the tangy, delicious, addictive scent of rain. Rain is unpredictable but fascinating, at how it can vary from a slight drizzle to a thunderous downpour. You're as unique, as marvelous as rain, and Lance, you're the one for me and that will never change."

"But… but how?"

"I just do. Maybe all those fights, all that enmity evolved into something wonderful and special that I can't explain, and I don't want to, because explanations are a waste of time because I just want to hold you in my arms and never let you go."

"How much… do you fancy me?"

"I love you so much that the ocean would dry up, I love you so much that I'll build a bridge from Earth to Mars for you, I love you so much that I'd continue sending roses to you forever no matter how much you'll mock me, and I love you so much that I've memorized all your small habits, the way you peel off the crust of a sandwich before you eat it, and the stance you take when you use your powers."

And before you can utter anything else, Scott Summers, your enemy-turned-lover, silences you with a soft and tender kiss.

----------

_March 2006_

You complain dismally. Scuttling up and down the hallways and corridors as a beetle was NOT included in your agenda as a shape-shifter. It needs all your skill and your sharp senses to avoid being trampled on.

Oh the humanity!

You lay in a corner, waiting for your quarry to appear. Ah yes, you see the leader of X-Men appear out of the Danger Room, looking harried and rushed, his face a mask of twisted anger. Behind him, the rest of the pathetic X-Men troop out. Obviously something had gone wrong.

Never mind the rest, Magneto had asked you to concentrate solely on Scott Summers and Lance Alvers. Deftly side-stepping the horrendously gargantuan feet tramping on your direction, you scuttle away, in the direction of Scott.

Damn, he _does_ look a bit wretched.

Maybe it's the sexual tension.

Shrugging the useless thoughts away, you tread alongside him to his room, where you find no one but Lance Alvers staring at a report, standing in front of Scott's study table.

"LANCE! What are you doing here! You aren't supposed to see that!" Scott shrieks, and with two smooth strides, goes over and snatches the report out of Lance's hands.

"I… I got Kurt to 'port me over as I missed you… Is… is it true? That… there's a cure for us?" Lance stammers, his voice tremulous.

"You aren't supposed to know. This **_was_** supposed to be highly confidential and top secret. But since you discovered it… Yes, there is a cure, invented by scientists. The Professor told Storm, Wolverine, Beast, Jean and me. That was why the rest of the X-Men were so disgruntled. They wanted to know why I was spending so much time in the Professor's office, but I think I got a bit fed-up with them and snapped at them," Scott sighed, burying his head into his palms, tendrils of his hazel-brown hair leaking between his fingers.

There was a slight pause as Lance slowly digested this new revelation.

Your beetle eyes are wide open now, as huge as dinner plates (well, as huge as a beetle's eyes can be). So _this_ was what Erik was after. After a month of torture, torment and agony, you finally find out the deep dark secret.

"Maybe you need to forget," Lance smiles seductively, sliding his shirt over his head.

Scott's eyes open wide in arousal and surprise as Lance saunters over to Scott and pushes him over to the bed, and then proceeds to give him a very inviting strip tease.

_So maybe he IS getting some after all._

Soon, the air is filled with tantalizing moans and whispers.

You decide to get out of there before your eyes start burning.

---------

"I… I bought this for you."

"It's… it's beautiful."

"I thought I'd get something for you to make it up to you. You know, the refusal of roses and everything."

"I love you, you silly goose."

"A silly goose. Well, I've never been called _that_ before."

The next day, Scott Summers could be seen sporting a necklace, with a charm glazed with stained glass hanging, decorated uniquely with intricate **petal-like patterns.**

"_I bought this for you because you remind me of stained glass, made up of a spectrum of different colours. Before I met you, I didn't know how to love, but after that, you showed me the wonderful multitude of hues that coloured_ _my heart. I love you, Scott Summers, and I want you to never forget me."_

_----------_

_April 2006_

You feel comfortable in your own skin again, your eyes predatory and grin feral as you march up the steps of the Brotherhood house without alarm in the dead of the night. You have found out enough. Now, is the time. Barging in Lance's room, you don't give him any time to escape. In a deft movement, you cross over to that cupboard and grab all the roses you can, and with your other hand, you lift Lance Alvers out of his bed with a manacle-like grip.

With that, you slip out of the house like shadows at dawn, as if you never entered, stealing away as swift and silent as twilight.

-----------

You feel his eyes casting you green-raptor glares as you throw the roses on the dirty table in the dungeon-like room. You have picked out the dead roses from the live ones, and you have discarded the dead ones as they are of no use to you. Half of the supposedly-live flowers have already turned brown, and you cannot help but snicker at the boy's predicament.

"Let me strike a deal with you. Tell me all you know about the elixir that supposedly 'cures' mutants, and I'll release you back to your happy little Summers-filled life. It seems that you are very easy to talk to, the way Summers spilt out everything. Besides, loose lips sink ships.

"If you are adamant on being difficult, I will place the few roses that are still alive in this flask. By the time each and every single rose is dead, and if you haven't leaked anything out, you will be dead.

"Oh no, boy, don't give me that look. Magneto's orders. Not mine. You're just a small tool in his project, a project that he **desperately** wants to achieve, up to the point of taking your life."

"His project to eradicate mankind, you mean. How do you think he can accomplish that, when he is not even CIVIL to his fellow mutants? You KNOW how he treated his family, and you, of all people, know how it is to lose a loved one."

You don't like the hard look in his unflinching eyes.

"Do you remember? Do you remember when you were running away at the bridge, and you dropped your only child? Now Wagner is now opposing your side to this so-called war. Do you want to know why? All because of the man you're working for! Have you ever wondered what would happen if that didn't happen? You could have had a family, a child, something WORTH living for, instead of being this ugly, grouchy old hag that no one bothers to love-"

You don't like the way this is going. Things are getting too close to home, and besides, you're the one that's supposed to be in control of the situation, not some stupid 18-year-old boy.

You back-hand him venomously over his face, and the sound of the slap echoes at the dank, sterile, metal-made room. You grab his chin, your long dangerous nails piercing his skin and stare into his cold steely eyes.

"I see all the rubbish called LOVE that Scott Summers has been feeding you is drilling holes into your brain and promising you things that will never be fulfilled. Do you really think he likes you, dumb-ass? He lives in a FUCKING mansion, while you live in a screwed-up dump with pathetic people. He will never be yours, and you will never be his! You come from two different FUCKING galaxies!" It is now your turn to hiss, your voice fueled by cold fury, your eyes narrowing into slits, anger bolstering your flailing confidence.

You think it would work. Hell, it SHOULD.

"I love him! I love him IlovehimIlovehimIlovehim and he loves me too!" The poor deluded boy declares staunchly and stubbornly, fake little promises filling his eyes. He fidgets silently in his bonds, and you can only throw your head back and laugh unkindly, a grotesque display of glee.

You point to the roses, a wicked sneer curling your lips, as precise and passionless as homework.

"That can be a symbol of your fake little love. With each and every single day, you will it see it wilting, and soon, in maybe days or weeks, everything will die. He will completely forget about you. He will completely forget about everything that happened, all your joyous little sex and laughter will vanish from his mind. He'll find someone new, while you're rotting here, rotting here in this pathetic dungeon."

His eyes don't flicker.

"Rotting away like you?" A parody of a smile plays on the side of his lips, a high, thin reedy laughter emitting from him, almost threatening to scald you. The shackles twist around his hands, and he shifts aggressively in them.

He stares steadfastly at you.

You feel incredulous repugnance fill you."I don't waste my time on people like you, who have your heads up in clouds, dreaming about delusions."

With that acidic retort, you turn sharply on your heel and tread out of the room.

"By the way, your geological manipulation powers don't work. This room has been carefully designed to prevent that. Have fun."

Fool.

You're _Mystique._

You never love.

They say you hurt the people you love most.

**If that's the case, I'd rather not love than be hurt again.**

**--------------**

You see that poor boy staring at the six roses remaining every single minute of the day, his eyes gray and darkening, as if it'd help his knight in shining armor come up galloping on his white steed to save him.

That shit only happens in fairy tales.

He keeps staring at the flowers like an empty hourglass filled with imaginary sand.

A veil of silence divides the two of you.

He knows that it is his life ticking away like a time-bomb. But yet, his lips remain sealed.

You have this slight figment of doubt, that maybe… maybe there is love in this world.

_On top of that, you also wonder why the roses are taking a longer time to wilt than you expected._

_----------_

_2 weeks after_

"I won't say anything! You'll never get it out of me! Never!" he screams when I feed him his regular intake of dry bread and water.

You look at the roses. Only four left.

"At the rate your love is dying, I'd estimate a week and a half before the little flame called your life is snuffed out. Oh, and before I forget, a small little present for you."

You whip out a photo. Not just _any _photo. A photo of his beloved Scott Summers locking his sweet lips with a blonde named Pietro Maximoff.

Well, the photo was obviously faked but of course, he didn't need to know that.

And from Lance Alvers' lips spill out a hoarse howl that is neither human nor animal.

----------

"You eavesdropped on our conversations to have found out what you did!"

You clap mockingly. "Well, it took you… let's see… two and a half weeks to arrive at that skilful conclusion. How clever of you."

"But… but if you could do that, why didn't you continue on listening to us to get the information!"

"Waste of human resources. Namely, me," you smile superciliously. "My talents are used better elsewhere."

"Such as satisfying Magneto's sexual desires, of course."

IGNORE him, you tell yourself. Frowning and getting angry at scum like him will only increase your chance of getting wrinkles, you persuade yourself, all the while controlling your anger. Besides, women at your age are prone to getting wrinkles and crow's feet and stretch marks and cellulite. SMILE, Raven. He is NOT getting to you. You are the one in control.

"I wonder if he's old enough to satisfy you. Is he a moaner or screamer in bed? Is his penis really wrinkled? Does he make you come? Do you-"

You lunge at him, fingernails out-stretched.

--------------

_I've always wanted you-_

Do you remember the time? At the beach when you let me kiss your eyelids?

_You're addictive, a drug that-_

You were so scared, so afraid that you'll hurt me, but I didn't care because I wanted to see you-

_I want you to never forget me-_

But when I kissed your eyelids, I felt your warmth, your love radiating from them.

_I missed you-_

It was so surreal. Like you've showed me a side of you that not even sex can.

… _that the ocean would dry up-_

You're my life. I don't know whether this is love. But this feels so real. So _fucking_ real.

… _rainbow. The sky is filled of rainbows but we never bother to notice-_

I want to touch you.

… _blood roses. _

They say roses are a symbol of love.

Do you love me?

… _kissing Pietro Maximoff. _

Let's count the petals.

_He loves me._

_He loves me not._

_He loves me._

_He loves me not._

_**He loves me.**_

I don't want to go like this. I won't let you walk away when I have so much to say.

I want to tell you how much I love you, how much I want you to hold me close, how much I want to feel your heartbeat beside mine.

The last petal has just dropped off the blood roses.

I won't go like this.

I won't go like this.

You're my _only_ one.

I don't want the chance to love you to vanish from me like the night, I want to tell you so many things, and all those things that I never got the chance to tell you. I don't think I can endure it if I let you walk away from me when I have so much to say-

**when** **I have so much to say-**

**so** **much to say-**

**to** **tell you-**

_They're coming for me now._

_Save me. Save me from this sea of noise and ugliness and fear and these two eyes, these two empty pits that seem to stare straight into me every minute every second every day. Get this hateful sing-song tone away from me, these tentacles of darkness, all this soporific thoughts of death, these paradoxical states of mind screaming that you don't love me, you've forgotten about me-_

_KISSING PIETRO MAXIMOFF-_

_This silence deafens._

_----------_

One last, simple thing to do.

Lance Alvers?

Terminated.

You toss the dead roses in the fire, the angry tendrils of fire hungrily devouring the petals, as they lose their form and meaning, crumbling beyond any recognition.

_Just like their so-called love._

_---------_

It's okay, he mutters. It's okay.

_It's okay, there's just this little detail that my boyfriend has been kidnapped for one month and he's now dead, his body sent here._

He shrugs off gasps and screams.

It's okay, he keeps telling himself, train-tracks of tears making their way down the steep ridges of his gaunt face. He keeps telling himself that he's okay.

And then he calmly walks to the bathroom, opens the medicine cabinet and slashes his wrists.

With each slash, revealing his violet veins, he feels every vein, every artery on his heart tearing apart. He's screaming his lungs out, trying to grasp at empty air to get to him.

_You know why?_

_Because love isn't just skin-deep._

_----------_

_Your last thought._

_Raindrops on roses._


End file.
